


Promotional Material

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Twitter Fic [12]
Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 16:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17104166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: His back aches and his abdomen is tight with the effort of holding himself up. He's cold, chilled by the sweat drying on his skin in the flow of the atmo circulator. "Giving up, General?"Read the end-notes, friends!





	Promotional Material

**Author's Note:**

> Semi-spoilery explanation of "mildly dubious consent" and quick squick warning re: language used in the end notes.

The only sound is Hux's labored breathing. 

He grips the arms of the throne so very tight, wiry muscles trembling with the effort. His toes hook around Ren's calves, sweaty skin sticking to the leather of Ren's boots. He grinds himself down, rocks, twists. He lifts himself, weakly, and drops back down again. He's been at this thankless task long enough that his own erection has come and gone with no resolution. 

He won't give in. 

He'll satisfy Ren, just like he wagered. 

He'll get his title. 

Hux refuses to look at him. He'd rather focus on the wide, empty room. The space yawns around them, so unlike the pretentious throne room aboard the decommissioned Supremacy. Ren's statements of power in aesthetic are far more sober, meant to invoke fear and Darkness. The room recalls the vacuum of realspace, quiet and still and airless, rather than invoking the sensation of being swallowed by massive beast, trapped in its raw, red belly. No guards attend Ren. He alone presides.

Hux growls, air hissing and whistling through his clenched teeth. He's exhausted and sore. His legs are cramped and jellied all at once. His back aches and his abdomen is tight with the effort of holding himself up. He's cold, chilled by the sweat drying on his skin in the flow of the atmo circulator. 

"Giving up, General?" Ren purrs from behind. Ren's gloved fingers glide from the sticky base of Hux's neck to the end of his spine. Hux twitches away, rocking hard again. "Failure isn't so shameful, General. Not when you tried so hard. You're just not enough." His fingers trace back up, bumping over each notch of Hux's spine.

Hux twists to snarl over his shoulder, "Don't fucking touch me." 

Ren's brow shoots toward his hairline, eyes wide as saucers. His mouth twitches, forms something between a smile and a frown. He laughs suddenly, jarring Hux in his lap with the force of it. "I think we're past not touching, General."

"I agreed to let you put your karking Republican cock in me -- nothing more or less."

"I see." Ren shifts forward, nearly pitching Hux off of his seat with the change in angle. He's upright now, far more alert and intent than just seconds before, sprawled and lounging. "Does it disgust you so much then? To have me inside of you? Or is it just that you're... under me? So to speak." His smile is hard and cruel. "I'm getting bored, General." 

Ren's big hands settle on Hux's waist, squeezing and rubbing. They slip forward over his thighs, the fine seams of the gloves hard against his flesh, raising red marks that fade just seconds after they're made. Ren clutches at his hips hard, spreading him, making the junction of his backside and the thin skin there burn with stretching. 

"I'm inclined to void our wager. I certainly have nothing at stake here." 

He gropes, ungentle, thumbs rubbing into Hux's cleft, into the lubricant smeared there. The tips of his thumbs tease cruelly at Hux's rim, tired and puffy and aching so sharp. Hux bears down, rocks again and again, driving his hips down relentlessly in Ren's unforgiving grip. He pants, breathless with the effort. His skin glows with anger, humiliation. Ren falls back again, hands slapping uselessly down against the arms of the throne. He sighs, put-out. 

"Get off of me, General. Neither one of us is enjoying this farce."

Hux ignores him, wheezing with the effort of lifting and dropping himself, pushing his hips back. 

"General," Ren says, voice a low threat. 

Hissing, sensitive, Hux tips forward, carefully putting his toes against the floor. His knees buckle just slightly as he lifts himself, the sensation of Ren's barely hard cock slipping out of his hole making his stomach turn. He steps on the toe of Ren's boot, stumbling, gripping the arm of the throne to catch his balance. His back refuses to straighten, twinging sharply when he tries to stand. He hunches there, eyes squeezed shut, back to Ren. He cannot walk away from this. 

"You're dismissed."

Hux steps away from the throne, standing straight and ignoring the flash of pain that radiates from the small of his back into his knees. He rolls his shoulders back and holds himself with one hand, mustering as much dignity as he can standing stripped before Ren. 

Ren looks like he's been listening to a lecture on the agriculture of ancient Kashyyyk save for his monstrous cock lying soft and exposed. He is merely rumpled in comparison, trousers open and surcoat pushed away. He makes a sound like he's been indulging one of the many hundreds of planetary delegates that beg his attention and has grown tired of listening. He sits up, beginning to tuck himself away. 

"Get out," he says. "I have duties to attend to." 

Hux purses his lips, retort just barely contained. He looks down his nose at Ren, who starts to stand and pushes the pile of Hux's clothing carelessly toward him with a boot. 

"Quickly, please, General."

"We had an agreement."

"Yes, a foolish one... one that I'm appalled you thought you could hold me to.  _ Grand Marshal  _ for a quick fuck? Tell me, Hux, is that how you made General? On your back? I'd almost been hoping the rumors about the assassinations were the true ones." Ren shoulders past, crushing Hux's command cap under his heel. "Or is it really just that you wanted my disgusting, Republican cock up your tight Imperial ass?"

"Sit down, Ren."

"Excuse me?"

"Sit. Down." Hux's heart hammers in his chest so hard he thinks he might pass out. Ren turns and looks at Hux, his usually mobile features utterly blank. Hux can't read him. " _ Supreme _ Leader," he murmurs. 

"Why?" Ren doesn't let Hux speak. "Why should I? How would increasing your rank benefit me? Benefit the Order? What difference would it make? A change of title, an extra stripe on your sleeve -- nothing more. Why are you  _ so _ determined to have it, that you'd  _ debase _ yourself?"

"Sit down, Ren." He does, but with guarded posture. "Let me show you."

Hux takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and plants a knee between Ren's. He leans in, looming over Ren, their noses nearly meeting. With the firm press of his fingertips, he pushes Ren back until he's reclining once more. 

"Look at me," he hisses, Ren's eyes fixed on a point over Hux's shoulder. He undoes Ren's work, pulling his trousers open again and taking his cock out. He strokes it and Ren clenches his jaw. 

"Pathetic," Ren whispers, gaze sliding toward Hux finally when he's half hard in Hux's grip. Ren continues as if Hux were not carefully hoisting himself into the seat of the throne astride him. "I was disappointed in you, General, that you would come to me like you did -- accepting that wager, prepared for it -- wet like a cunt. I thought far more highly of you than that." 

Hux fists a hand in Ren's surcoat for balance, jerking his arm away when Ren attempts to remove it. With Ren’s cock hard he sinks down, knees frogged right up to his chest to fit in the space he's afforded. 

Ren closes his eyes, nostrils flared. Hux smacks his cheek, once, lightly. Ren's eyes fly open, full of outrage. 

"Look here," Hux hisses. 

Ren's lip curls in disgust. "I am looking, there's nothing to see." 

Hux feels his face and chest flush hot and he knows he's turned red. "Here," he snarls, jabbing at his own forehead with his index finger. 

Perhaps it's the precarious position he's in -- in every sense of position -- but the sensation of Ren slipping into his mind is something like slamming into a steel wall at full speed with a racer. He must grapple his free hand against Ren's chest to keep his balance. His breath is knocked from his chest entirely, his head tingles and pounds. 

Ren in his head is like virus crawling across the holonet -- crashing systems and searching for vital information. Hux struggles to keep him away from the most sensitive databanks. He's grown so tremendously powerful in the time since Snoke's death. The effort makes him shake. 

Ren growls something obscene and cruel, his hands seizing Hux's waist. "Move," he hisses. "Don't just sit there."

With his grip tight in the fabric of Ren’s surcoat, Hux moves. Ren’s fingertips go white with the effort of counterbalancing Hux’s merciless leverage against the throne. Hux’s hole is near numb with exertion as he lifts and drops, past the point of sensitivity. It’s no matter, his focus is on Ren’s mind and the way it has worked its claws into his own. He steers Ren, showing him what’s valuable.

_ A younger Hux sneers, wiping blood from his nose. “I was made to rule this kriffing galaxy.” An older woman in uniform laughs bitterly and tells him to be more careful with his treason. _

_ Officers of the Order march in a steady parade of drab grey and Hux moves past, chin high and eye blackened, accepting a promotion to Major. _

_ In his shining teal, Hux watches and listens. He gathers information -- hoards it. He approaches a colonel and hands off a report, an indictment. The number of smart, grey uniforms decreases. _

_ Hux trades his stripes. _

_ Hux pants -- shorter hair than he has now stuck up at the back of his head in an undignified manner. Anonymous hands touch him. He touches anonymous bodies. He stands in the refresher, water running red down the drain of the sink. _

_ Hux watches an unidentifiable person languish in a bacta tank. “Well done,” he says with a pinched expression. “As soon as I’ve been secured, you’ll have your due.” _

_ Hux watches an incinerator fire, fingers stroking a pair of general’s stripes, threads hanging freely from their backside. “We will move to the Finalizer at once. Circulate an order that General Hux has departed on a classified mission in the Unknown Regions.” _

_ Hux accepts a set of code cylinders and fixes them to the front of his jacket. He genuflects before Snoke, eyes shining with barely contained malice. _

Hux moans, curling in on himself, disinterested cock filling out. Ren holds onto him, thick fingers digging into the spaces between his ribs. The sense of Ren is a warm wave of stinging, salty water over him; seafoam burning his eyes and clinging to his lashes. Ren’s thighs tense, the thick cords of his long muscles turning to stone.

_ Hux speaks in hushed tones with a collection of officers. Admirals, marshals, generals. They whisper Ren’s name. _

_ They whisper Ren’s name. _

_ They whisper the Supreme Leader’s name. _

Hux pictures the flimsi documents locked safely beneath his work console: warrants authorized with his thumbprint. He pictures Ren in the Senate rotunda, one that no longer exists but could, issuing some edict. The assembly erupts with sober applause. Hux is there beside him, listening and observing.

Hux pictures them here in the throne room, imagines the heat of his skin and the slickness of sweat -- mutual satisfaction. Security.

Ren is breathing harshly against the top of Hux’s head where it is bowed, spittly flying from between his teeth and making Hux’s hair damp. He presses his shoulders back and plants his boots against the floor. He grunts, the sound low and sustained, while he drives his hips upward to meet Hux’s rhythm. Hux tightens his grip, twists the fabric of the surcoat in his fists. Ren makes a gurgling sound, throat straining against his collar -- against Hux -- as he comes.

Hux allows Ren to finish it, letting himself be jarred and bounced for endless seconds. His hands relax when Ren does; the pressure on his ribs lightening, their bodies easing down into the seat.

Ren’s breathing evens out. His hands sweep up from Hux’s sides to his face, cupping his cheeks. Ren rests their foreheads together. “If you betray me -- if you put anything into motion…”

“Then we have an agreement?”

“I need to consider it.”

“Good enough.” Hux coughs, heedless of their closeness. “For now.”

“I want names.”

“You’ll have them.”

Ren hisses softly when Hux lifts himself up, spent cock slipping free. Hux gingerly frees himself, unfolding one leg and unsteadily stepping down, then the other. Ren catches his wrist as he gets his feet back under himself. Hux tugs and finds himself held fast. He struggles not to cringe at the crawling feeling of Ren’s spunk dripping from his tired hole.

“If you’ve shown me anything,  _ General _ , it’s that you know how to clean up after yourself.” 

Hux swallows his disgust and the corners of Ren’s mouth curl upward. Ren lounges back against the throne, knees splayed. Joints cracking, Hux lowers himself at Ren’s feet. He eyes Ren’s wet cock with some trepidation as he leans in. He gasps it entirely without finesse and sucks the head between his lips. Ren’s heavy hand comes down on his head, just resting. Hux grimaces and breathes heavily through his nose, sliding forward. 

“Tell me, Hux, how many shiny new stripes shall I tell them to sew on your sleeve?”

Hux closes his eyes, face and chest warming with satisfaction. His belly tingles, cock twitching. He pulls off to look at Ren, jaw set.

“Just one, Supreme Leader. Gold piping will do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dub-con: They have a wager of sorts that involves Hux attempting to get Ren off via bouncing on his dick in exchange for a promotion. It's obvious neither of them are enjoying it and don't really want to be there, but they have absolutely agreed to the thing. It's very much a business transaction and even after Ren tells Hux to fuck off, he's too proud to give up. They plow forward after a short debate. They're equally manipulative and demanding even though there's a clear imbalance of power.
> 
> Squick: Ren is rather mean. He at one point compares Hux showing up to fulfill their deal with his ass already lubed up to being "wet like a cunt" with the intent of insulting him.


End file.
